I listen as you loop through memories,
time having lost all traction —
you were president of the molder’s union,
your wife was your typist,
your uncle John in Ireland
was a big hit with all the navy hot shots
These are the safe places,
sunk in the past
where it doesn’t matter
what facts are changed
I watch against the places
where your story
lurches into the present
and you think this is your brother’s house,
think I am his wife —
you think you need to find your home,
you think you need to leave
I wait here with the mission
to head off your concern,
to keep it clear that you are home
and we are family,
and you can spend your days
just as you please,
dozing in and out of dream
while we hold down the corners of reality.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 6, 2016
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